


past tense and all its dirty implications

by feralphoenix



Category: Blaze Union
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Odd?” Medoute clenched her fists. Before she realized it she’d already shifted her posture to place her weight more evenly. All her senses seemed more alert, and the smells of smoke and blood and bracken curled in her nose. “You can’t mean someone was injured?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh—no! No, no one’s hurt, it’s just that…” And here Aegina fell silent, her gaze floating away as she shifted from foot to foot. “I think you should go and check on them. It really isn’t my place to make any judgments on what I’ve seen. But I do think that you are better equipped to deal with them right now.”</i>
</p><p>In which Garlot, Siskier, and Jenon have had an unwelcome reunion on the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	past tense and all its dirty implications

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladytiresias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladytiresias/gifts).



> _(men without names and men without faces_ – starring the empty shell it left behind)
> 
> this fic started out as some half-drabble half-meta mess i slapped together during a conversation with a friend, so this is for her!!

“We’ve been unable to locate Pandra, sir. Ma’am.”

Medoute sighed and shrugged at the scout’s report. She turned to Velleman. “He’s a coward, but a wily one. I’d expect he has a secret hiding place somewhere in or around the fort.”

The Landgrave never quite seemed to sigh—Medoute’s guess was that he was either too well-bred for it or found the practice to be undignified, which amounted to the same thing in the end—but this time he did close his eyes and reach up with one white-gloved hand to press at the furrows of consternation between his eyebrows and exhale, slow and measured through his long straight nose. As he replaced his arm at his side, Medoute saw the flash of metal from the depths of his sleeve; he’d come armed with his baton, then. It was such an easily-concealed wand that she doubted Garlot and the others even realized that Velleman owned such a thing. She doubted she herself would have noticed the weapon if she hadn’t seen others like it in her travels.

Velleman opened his eyes and glanced dourly about the battlefield. “And so he left his men to die… He has nerve, to name himself their leader.” He folded his arms behind his back neatly and turned his head so that his hawkish gaze settled on Medoute. “Go and gather the soldiers. We have much to discuss, and we may as well do that here, away from prying eyes and ears.”

“Yes, sir.” Nodding her head to him, she turned and left the fort.

Obviously he meant for Garlot and the other kids to be an important part of the discussion, or he would have just spoken to her. Medoute liked that about Velleman. He could be blunt and callous and self-serving, yes, but he cared enough about Garlot’s potential to include the kid in his discussions about politics and the future direction of Gram Blaze. If only when Velleman himself was in a patient mood, but Medoute understood that too. They were kids, after all. Garlot and Siskier especially were bad enough to make her feel like an old lady, and her only four years older than them. Velleman was twice their age, and probably preferred to converse on an equal level instead of having to explain the subtleties he’d usually leave unspoken.

Usually the three founders of the Blaze Vigilantes stuck pretty close to Velleman when their employer came with them into battle, but sometime during the chaos of the cannon barrage they’d gotten separated. Medoute wasn’t that worried—Pandra’s men were ill-trained and haphazard and hadn’t been a match for Gram Blaze at all—but the slopes of Mt. Tokino were pockmarked with low-quality cannon shell and riddled with enemy forces. If those three had taken cover somewhere, finding them could take a while.

Most of the other commanders were trundling towards the fortification on the mountaintop; Eudy was predictably still cooing over the old junk heap of a cannon she’d commandeered from the enemy, with Aegina patiently trying to pry her away. Medoute passed on to them that Velleman was calling, could they leave it until it was time to pack up and head back to Tiera, which made Aegina smile at her in relief and Eudy sulk. She asked them if any of them had seen Garlot, Siskier, or Jenon. Eudy, who never had eyes for anything but cannons anyway, spread her hands carelessly in a don’t-look-at-me gesture, but Aegina frowned.

“I believe I saw them at the foot of the mountain. Something seemed… odd.”

“Odd?” Medoute clenched her fists. Before she realized it she’d already shifted her posture to place her weight more evenly. All her senses seemed more alert, and the smells of smoke and blood and bracken curled in her nose. “You can’t mean someone was injured?”

“Oh—no! No, no one’s hurt, it’s just that…” And here Aegina fell silent, her gaze floating away as she shifted from foot to foot. “I think you should go and check on them. It really isn’t my place to make any judgments on what I’ve seen. But I do think that you are better equipped to deal with them right now.”

Before Medoute could ask, Aegina was already bowing her head and gently leading Eudy away from the cannon by the wrist.

Unable to make heads or tails of Aegina’s meaning, Medoute scratched her head and set off back down the mountainside.

This side of Mt. Tokino was gentle compared to the sheer cliffs that interrupted the land north of the fortress. Medoute had climbed much worse in her time, so she made it down to the fortifications without even breathing hard. It was quiet, down here at the foot of the thing, now that all the soldiers had gone uphill to meet with Velleman. The immediate aftermath of battles tended to be, until the animals got the courage to return to their homes.

So the sound of a man retching was a lot easier for Medoute to pick up than it might have been. Baffled—none of the soldiers in Gram Blaze were green enough to get nauseous over killing an opponent, or over the sight of a corpse—she loosened the buckles that held her axe in place for safety’s sake, and approached the noise.

And there they were.

It was the bloodstains on Jenon’s white coat that shocked her, first. Jenon was a vain young man, and had been taught proper swordsmanship; if he could avoid the brunt of bloodspatter he did, and if he didn’t he’d complain the ear off anyone who got near him. But here he stood with red spray all over his front and his face, leaning against a nearby treetrunk and methodically wiping gore off his wide sword blade.

Garlot was on hands and knees, pale and sweaty and shaking so badly Medoute could see it even on the other side of the copse. His eyes were wide with—horror, maybe; every minute or so he’d retch again, but nothing came up but spit and blood and bile. Siskier knelt next to him, head laid along his upper back and eyes half-closed, murmuring to him too low for Medoute to make out distinct words. She was wound around him like some kind of clinging vine.

The body was in the middle of the clearing, facedown in the churned-up dirt.

Medoute glanced down at it dispassionately. The corpse had belonged to a man, probably in his forties or so from the build and how gnarled his hands were. He was big and bulky; though his skin was starting to pale with death as the blood drained to his stomach, she judged that he’d probably had the same golden skin tone as Garlot and the majority of native Bronquians. His hair still had visible streaks of white even under the mud and the blood. The rest of it might have been red.

Crossbow bolts sprouted from the body’s shoulder and back. It also sported a number of sword and lance wounds. Medoute wouldn’t be able to tell whether Jenon or Garlot had dealt the killing blow unless she turned the thing over and examined its front.

She looked back up. None of the three kids seemed to have any severe injuries—just the kinds of scrapes and scratches one picked up while dodging through wooded terrain, and a few light slices to the limbs. Whatever had brought this uncharacteristic show of emotion, physical injury wasn’t at the heart of it.

Medoute sighed and folded her arms. Aegina had seemed to trust her with sorting this out, but she was at a loss for how to deal with this. Most likely they would make their own peace with whatever had happened if she left them to it.

“Velleman’s calling,” she said simply. “The battle’s over. We’ve taken the fortress but Pandra got away. Apparently there’s something Velleman wants to talk to you about—I’ve been sent to say he’s expecting you uphill.”

None of them startled when she spoke. She didn’t expect it of Jenon or Siskier, whose eyes had flicked to her as she approached, but it was interesting that Garlot didn’t. He could be awfully jumpy when someone got the drop on him.

Medoute wasn’t entirely sure if Garlot had even noticed she was there. It was a little perturbing.

“We’ll be along,” Jenon said calmly. He looked his sword over, apparently satisfied with cleaning it, and slid it back into its sheath. He hiked his coat up and stuffed the cloth he’d used back into his pants pocket. “Just give us a moment.”

Medoute shrugged. “That’s fair.” She glanced pointedly back down at the corpse, and looked up slowly to see that Jenon was following her gaze. “So who was he?”

Garlot made a low noise like something Medoute might have expected from a dying beast. Siskier hissed with sympathy or reproach, but instead of giving Medoute any kind of significant look or glare, she just wrapped herself more snugly around Garlot.

Jenon, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes. There was something flinty about his face as he glared down at the corpse.

“Nobody,” he said shortly after a moment had passed.

Medoute tilted her chin back a little at the obvious lie. Then she let her breath out and allowed her shoulders to slump. They obviously didn’t intend to talk about it, and it was probably none of her business anyway.

“Well, make sure you straighten up a little before you join everyone at the fort,” she said. “Try to be along as soon as you can. You know Velleman doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

“Yeah,” said Jenon. “We’ll be along in a bit. Go ahead back and let everyone know.”

Medoute nodded and turned to leave, resolving to put the incident from her mind.


End file.
